Past and Present
by Morbidly Obscure
Summary: Doll and Ciel on Christmas Eve...before and after her death. Ciel/Doll, half cute and half dark.


**Pairing that does not get enough love :) Please enjoy and review!**

**OoO**

Ciel did not mind spending Christmas Eve masquerading as a member of Noah's Ark Circus any more than he minded spending most nights there. At the very least, there was no over-ebullient Elizabeth squealing over him, and no bone-headed servants dropping the candles meant to go on the tree and setting rugs aflame. There was, however, Doll.

Because of Doll, Ciel's hands were scraped, his clothes dirtied, and his muscles sore from climbing up thick bare tree branches that extended like octopus arms from the trunk. Because of Doll, Ciel was sitting precariously at a great height in the great chilly wind, shivering and swaying on his branch. Because of Doll, Ciel was spending the evening in the presence of a friend, rather than barricaded in a room with a good murder-mystery as was his preference. Because of Doll, Ciel was looking at the quicksilver points of light spackling the sky, feeling unusually small as the blue black swirls of milky-way encased him.

"Damn it Freckles, stop that right now!" Ciel shouted at the giggling girl, who was tip-toeing, graceful as one of Sebastian's beloved cats, along another branch, much thinner and higher up than Ciel's own.

The tight-rope walker had not changed from her extravagant costume, having just rushed over from a show, and Ciel could see passed the tiers of flowers and crinoline up Doll's skirt—long, smooth legs with curves of slender muscle, flushed petal-pink from winter wind, and mismatched garters. Occasionally, breeze puffed the short bell skirt up, revealing the barest glimpses of white half-moons, firm and forbidden. Doll took no notice, but Ciel watched with objective interest.

_Shameless_, he thought, but it was an empty chastisement. Ciel was merely a damned soul playing the part of a staunch gentleman playing the part of a lowly performer. Ciel's short life was a web of whispering, pulsating lies more intricate in nature than Doll's whimsical ensemble.

Doll laughed, sending a plume of breath spiraling into the night like stream from a kettle. Aquamarine eyes sparkled like semi-precious stones. "Whatsa matter? Worried 'bout me, Smile?"

"No," Ciel snapped in irritation, "I just don't want to be the one to clean up the bloody mess you'll make when you fall."

Another laugh. "Okay, okay."

Ciel looked on, interested in seeing how Doll planned on scaling down the tree. The boy's visible eye widened when Doll simply leapt, silhouetted for a fractional instant by slivers and sparks of night-light. Ciel thought of Swan Lake, that trite little ballet that Elizabeth had dragged him to, with the elegant dancer in her virgin-white dress, soaring above the audience on wires and pulleys. There were no wires here, and Doll fell like a drop of renegade moonlight. She landed beside Ciel, squatting on her hands and slippers; looking like a winter ermine and grinning like a forest fox.

Stony-faced, Ciel gave a few ironic claps. "Brava."

Doll was unaffected by Ciel's sarcasm. She smiled softly at her companion. "Nice up here, ain't it?"

_We clearly have different ideas of "nice,"_ Ciel thought, but he returned the grin and said "yeah."

The circus lay out below them, still lit with strings of faerie lights that only occasionally flickered or died. The flecks of grime Ciel often noted on the black-and-white tent stripes were invisible from here. The pair could smell hot grease and frying fat coming from the cookhouse, and they even heard the occasional clamor of beer-fueled arguments and revelry. Honestly, Ciel preferred being in the tree.

(Doll preferred being with Ciel.)

"Here. I brought us a cake from tha town bak'ry," Doll said, rifling through a fringed white satchel she had slung upon her shoulder like an Indian's papoose, "S' a 'Chrissmass Bush,' or somethin' like that."

Ciel smirked behind his blue-nailed hand. Proficient in both French, and pastry knowledge, he was well aware of the _Buche de Noel,_ or _Yule Log_ as a traditional Nordic dessert, though many bakeries in London were ambivalent, claiming the confection to be Pagan. Of course, he played ignorant. "Oh, it's...nice."

The cylindrical cake was slightly squashed in its casing, but the rich chocolate frosting was mostly intact. Doll had seen no need to procure utensils, so they ate with their hands, Ciel's wince of distaste just barely concealed. He cheered slightly, though, as the soft, moist sweetness gave way beneath his probing digits. Chocolate butter-cream and ganache melted, velvet-like, on the childrens' tongues, and crumbles of liquor-soaked sponge cake fell from their nimble fingers. When they finished the confection, the gaudy blue taffeta of Ciel's kilt was sprinkled with flurries of powdered-sugar snow, and Doll's ivory dress bore marks of smeared icing from cake-eating beside dirty smears from tree-climbing.

Ciel, content, even went so far as to lick his fingers. Doll dug back into her bag and retrieved an engraved silver flask. "Nicked this from big-brother Joker," the girl explained, popping the cap and taking a swig, "Wassail."

The flask was passed, and Ciel, curious for never having tried the drink, took a dainty sip. Apples, ale, and spices. Casting away the cold inside Ciel's stomach the way it was supposed to cast away evil spirits from trees.

Back and forth, back and forth, until the flask was empty, and Ciel wanted to close his eyes because he felt warm and heavy. All of a sudden, lips on Ciel's painted cheek, half-frozen but soft. That cheek tinged momentarily pink, as though struck, and Ciel frowned disapprovingly at Doll's smiling visage.

"We should go down," he said.

"Nah," Doll replied. She stretched out on the branch, back-down as though it were a bed. Her dirty-soled silk slippers touching against the trunk, and her head falling in Ciel's lap. She had taken off her head-piece, and her shorn auburn hair was matte with sweat and dust. All the same, Ciel patted his companion's head in awkward acknowledgment, then, intrigued, ran his fingers through the mussed locks. He liked the way Doll's hair felt, flickering through his fingertips like errant flames, dying in a fireplace.

Doll's lips—which just before had brushed Ciel's face—curled sweetly up. Her absurd fake lashes lay on her cheekbone like black sickles. "Merry Christmas, Smile."

**OoO**

_Come on Smile, smile!_

Earl Ciel Phantomhive awoke to the smell of white roses, sweet and pure like fresh snow. He could sense light behind his closed lids, so he let them fall open. The fourteen-year-old's stomach—filled with roast partridge with pear jam, champagne, and two helpings of Figgy Pudding—churned at the sight of Doll, emitting an eerie pearl glow in the gloom of Ciel's chamber.

"Hello Smile," the ghost murmured, voice deceptively soft. Her turquoise eye burned into Ciel's own, and he felt dreadfully naked because his contract mark was exposed and gleaming sickly pink behind his bangs.

"Don't call me that," Ciel replied instantly. He despised that damned moniker.

"Oh right you are," Doll's mouth twisted bitterly, "It's Ciel, yeah? Earl Ciel Phantomhive?"

Ciel's anger flared at the way Doll spit out his name like a curse. "That is correct," he replied stonily.

"Nice to meet you then, Earl," the ghost curtsied ironically and regarded Ciel with eyes cold enough to rival his own, "seeing as you're the one who killed me."

"Not technically," Ciel pointed out mechanically.

"Because of you, my family is dead," Doll said, voice thick with grief and hatred. She was floating ever-so-slowly toward Ciel's bed, as though ensnared by a magnetic pull.

"Yes," Ciel replied, neither pleased nor repentant; confirming a fact.

"Because of you, _I'm_ dead," Doll reiterated, closing the space between her and Ciel inch by inch.

"Yes."

Ciel's icy demeanor infuriated Doll, and her face contorted. "I _trusted_ you, Smile! Right up to the end, I _trusted you!_"

It was a yell, filled with anger and agony. Ciel responded with a tiny smirk, his first of the night. "Well then, that was foolish of you, wasn't it?"

Doll's mouth fell open, and she looked like she'd been slapped. Sorrow taking the place of fury. "It was that butler o' yours that did it, right?" Doll murmurs, lachrymose, "but I don' hate him how I hate you."

"Why not?" Ciel wondered, pure curiosity.

"Because I didn't love _him,_" Doll answered, and her one eye throwing off daggers of accusation. "You hurt me worst, cause I loved you best."

Ciel wanted to smirk again, say that that was Doll's own stupid fault, but his throat feels like it's being strangled. Doll was hovering over Ciel now, transparent arms pinning him in place. The scalloped neckline of her bodice plunged low when she bent, and Ciel put reached up to touch a small, pert, no-longer-budding breast, expecting it to feel like a hard winter berry, but his hand sunks through Doll's phosphorescent form as though striking a rotten piece of fruit. She was colder than anything Ciel had ever touched.

"D'you see what you've made me?" Doll demanded, and Ciel could see that she was miserable.

"I did not do _this_," Ciel argued. It was true; he never chose such a fate for his former friend.

"But you did," Doll said, and she looked almost pitying. "Evil actions make evil consequences, an' not just you hafta deal with them."

"Then why should I care," Ciel snapped, but there was the slightest edge of desperation to his typically apathetic voice.

"Because you _will,_" Doll retorted, porcelain face hardening, "You'll pay for what you've done, an' not just ta me. You made yer bed, an' now you'll toss and turn in it ev'ry night."

"Prophecies," Ciel snorted, trying to keep any weakness out of his voice.

"Warnings," Doll corrected harshly, "you'll nev'r escape the nightmares. You damned me, _Smile_," Doll jabbed Ciel's chest, and frosty pain shot through his heart, "so now I'm here ta make you pay fer it. You gave up yer conscience a long time ago, and that made it easy, but from now on I gonna be yer guilt, yer punishment, yer _ghost_."

Ciel's eyes narrowed; he did not like being intimidated. "Fine," he said, voice just barely quavering, "see if I care."

Doll's eye burned like the blue core of a flame. "You will," she intoned softly, "because I'll be your living hell."

Doll sunk then, melted her ephemeral form right into Ciel's body. It was cold at first, so _cold_, and getting colder till Ciel's skin went frost-bite blue, and then it felt _hot_ like fire because at some point hot and cold just become the same sort of nerve-searing pain. Scorched and frozen, Ciel felt a scream claw its way up his throat. He screamed and screamed and screamed and—

"Young Master, is everything alright?"

Sebastian was at the door, Ciel was awake and still screaming. The boy stopped, looked around. Nothing. It was Christmas Eve, and there were no ghosts in the mansion. Preposterous thought. _A Christmas Carol_ was open on Ciel's blanket-covered lap, spine cracked. He felt the inane urge to laugh.

"Just a nightmare, Sebastian," Ciel said quietly, "you may leave."

"Hm, I've heard that guilt can be a terrible beast," Sebastian mused to himself, still loud enough for Ciel to hear. Before the boy could remark, he bowed and said, "Good night, my lord."

As Sebastian's footsteps disappeared down the hallway, Ciel lay back on his pillow, eyes wide and dark-ringed. There was the chill of death in his heart.


End file.
